Leaving Las Vegas by Aleah Barley #GuestPost #Giveaway

When West Virginia wild-child Glory Allen gets caught in the middle of a kidnapping attempt, she has to decide if rescuing the sexy Luke Tanner is worth risking her life. Especially after the high and mighty casino magnate just accused her of cheating in his casino.

Her decision to help, causes Luke to step into her hometown to develop a community that doesn’t need improvement—a community Glory’s gambling earnings were meant to save—and Glory can’t help but question her judgment, because the chemistry between them is about to explode, and it has nothing to do with the Vegas thugs hot on their trail.Now Glory is stuck helping Luke figure out who set him up and what to do about their own burning attraction…before Glory’s hometown, and her life, are lost for good.

Bang. Another gunshot sounded, followed by the sound of a soaring symphony and a bubbling aria as opera suddenly poured out of the car’s speakers. She must have turned on the radio while scrabbling about. Great. Just great.

Her body tensed. One foot went down on the clutch; she slammed the car into gear, shifting smoothly from second to third. The man listened to opera? They shouldn’t be inhabiting the same zip code, let alone the same car. The Vanquish leaped forward, peeling into the alleyway as the sound of seventy-six trombones overrode the radio.

Crap. Either a high school band had chosen that moment to march down the next street over or Glory’s cell phone was going off. The ringtone meant her no-good, dirty, rotten cousin Benji was calling.

Everyone in town liked Benji. They liked his charming manners, his bright good looks, and the firework show he put on at Black Lake every Fourth of July.

Glory knew better. Benji just liked to blow stuff up.

And he was staying at her house. Well, to be technical, her trailer. Vintage 1970s with all original harvest-gold appliances. A nice place, but not built to withstand casual explosions. She could only hope her roof would be intact by the time she got back home.

She flicked a quick glance in the rearview mirror. Was that a black SUV she saw? “What’s the quickest way we can get to the main road?” she asked. “Heading east.”

“No such thing as east. Just Utah or Arizona.”

“Arizona,” she said a little too loud. Like she wasn’t quite sure. “We’re going to Arizona.”

“Wait—‘we’? There’s no ‘we’ here. I barely know you,” Luke said.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never depended on the kindness of strangers, either. But here we are.” She downshifted, slowing the car as she came to the end of the alleyway. Right or left?

“I gave you a car and you saved my life,” he said. “So I suppose we’re no longer strangers.”

Left. Seemed a good enough gamble. She slowed, turned left onto a side street, and caught his soft smile out of the corner of her eye as she made the turn. Luke Morrison. It was a good name, strong and capable like the man. He’d given her something, trusting her with his name. She could give him the same courtesy in return.

She hit the gas and the car rocketed forward, throwing them both back against the seats, then said, “I’m Gloria Allen. People call me Glory. My father was a preacher. My mama ate MoonPies while she was pregnant. My sisters are crazy as hell. And while we’re driving around yapping, my cousin’s probably blowing my house to kingdom come.”

Leaving Las Vegas Blog Tour Stop Nine: Lunch!

I move to stand up in front of the waiting crowd. “My name is Aleah Barley, and I am an addict. I’m not addicted to alcohol, tobacco, or any of the usual suspects. I’m not even addicted to romance novels.” I can quit anytime I want! “I’m addicted to food.”

Nods from around the room. The entire tour is squeezed into the diner where Luke and Glory ate their first breakfast together. The place smells like butter and eggs. Like my cholesterol level is going up just standing here. I take another breath. Delicious.

“My favorite food is chocolate… and cheese… not together.” No, that’s not right. “My favorite food is blue crabs, fresh off the boat, cooked on the dock with more than a dash of Old Bay.” That’s not quite right either. “I like blackberries, and raspberries, really anything in the ‘berry’ family.”

People are beginning to stare now. I shrug. I already told them that I’m an addict. What more do they want from me?

Myrna—the waitress—begins to move through the place, dropping off plates full of hash and eggs, omelets, and a yummy looking huevos rancheros.

Damn, I lick my lips. I need to order.

“I like fish,” Glory says. We’ve established some sort of truce since they covered for me at the last stop. “Fresh fish pulled out of Black Lake. My sister drops them off in the afternoon after she goes fishing. I make fish and chips out on the dock. Fried in beer batter—my own recipe.”

The heroine of Leaving Las Vegas is sitting in one of the back booths, dressed in a pair of cut off shorts and a black halter top. Her food is sitting in front of her. Pancakes. Not my favorite. Maple syrup. Definitely not my thing.

And a double fudge chocolate milkshake.

I could definitely go for one of those.

“I love your friend fish.” Luke is sitting beside her. One hand on her thigh, the other digging into a plate full of bacon and eggs. “Of course, I’m partial to sushi myself.” A wry smile crosses his face. “It’s hard to get in West Virginia.”

“It’s one of the down sides of living in a small town,” Glory explains. “We could stop and get some on the way.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” the man says. “When we’re done with the roadtrip, we’ll fly to San Francisco for sushi. I’ll have my private plane waiting when we get there.” He glances up at me, and his emerald eyes sparkle. His gaze is hot against my skin. “Want to come?”

“Damn straight!” Okay, maybe that was a little too loud. I swallow, hard, and wave down the waitress. Sushi in the future sounds like a damn good idea, but I need one of those chocolate milkshakes now.

What about you? Do you have a favorite thing to eat? Something tasty? Something tingly? Something sexy?

Aleah Barley is an author of funny (she hopes) contemporary romances. After recently moving to Detroit, she discovered that the rumors are true: it is a post-apocalyptic wasteland full of abandoned buildings, zombies, and hipster coffee shops that don’t open before nine in the morning. It’s also a great place to live.

Really.

Promise.

She spends her days working hard to make the world a better place and her nights writing about kick-ass women who live life to the fullest and the men who love them.

She’ll do anything for a box of chocolates. Or ice cream. Seriously. Try her.